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Diary of Roger Letty
The Diary of Dr. Roger Letty, Miskatonic Professor of Archaeology, on the Amazonian expedition of 1927. August 1927 8/9 It has been a trying journey. Brazil, despite its exoticism, is a backward country. Sao Paulo is large, bustling, and dirty, much like New york, or Boston, without the culture. Corumba is simply depressing- filthy, crumbling under poverty, there are children begging in the streets, with their teeth already rotting out of their heads. Cuyaba is even worse. These towns are on a par with the worst I have seen in Africa and Arabia. As always, only the potential of a notable find spurs me on. If even part of Fawcett's suppositions are true, then historians will be writing of this journey for centuries to come. 8/12 This is worse than Africa. The mosquito netting is no protection against this pulverinha- nearly invisible biting gnats that coat you once night falls. It feels like I haven't slept since we entered the jungle. 8/18 Morale is low. None of us, I think, have slept at all. Save the native guides, who appear to have an innate resistance, or perhaps merely a stoicism. The remaining dogs are suffering, and the mules are a terrible sight to see. Everyone has had ticks, removed by judicious application of cigarettes. Every inch of exposed skin is painted with iodine, and still the bite wounds swell and itch. 8/24 The Tucapi warn of hostile natives ahead, so Carruthers wants to detour. Fawcett is sure he can find the area his father went to, no matter what route we take. None of the party is unwounded. One of the muscle men has an infected ankle from a boot blister, and is severely impaired in his movement. Carruthers' student, Smythe, has an infestation of maggots in his thigh, and complains constantly. We have gone only a handful of miles in the past three days. Despite significant use of quinine, several of the party have fever, and Doctor Dunn can do little to alleviate our pains. 8/26 Carruthers remains disturbingly blithe as the Tucapi perform their horrid rituals in the jungle. I can hear their chanting, and the crackling of their fires, and I do not want to know to what purpose they are putting the bodies of the hostile tribe that attacked us today. Several of them were alive when subdued, and the occasional scream from their neighbouring encampment is unsettling. The attack happened before noon, as we were attempting to ford a river. The natives appeared on the far bank, and as we turned to attempt another crossing, they opened fire with their six foot arrows, and spears, rushing across the waters. Our men returned fire with carbines, and the enemy were surprisingly unafraid. Three of the eight Tucapi were killed, but only Maude and Mary were injured in the fray. They are traumatized, of course, but Dunn has done what he can, under the circumstances. The Tucapi took the weapons of the fallen, and stripped from each of the other tribesman a curious artifact. I recovered them, and now have a small collection of twelve carved stone pendants. They are remarkably identical for hand-wrought work. I have not yet determined if they represent a tribal totem of some sort, a religious icon, or perhaps simply a sign indicating manhood, or a member of the warrior caste. Fawcett recognised them, and showed me one of his own, given to him by his father, over a decade ago. The Colonel seemed to put great import in these images, but he was a man of action, more than of science. The icons are of a mottled green stone, and seem to be a stylized image of a fantastically monstrous head. They each contain characteristics of piranha, viper, and scorpion, and the composite image is profoundly disturbing. I have kept one for examination, and gave one to my student Dowling, for his education. I believe Carruthers kept one as well, and left the rest with Smythe as, he said, he's not useful for much else at the moment. September 1927 9/8 We are nearing the Bakairi post, the last bastion of civilization, though if Cuiaba was any example, I think I am right to keep my expectations low. There is a river there that should, according to Fawcett and Carruthers, take us near Fawcett's reputed Dead Horse Camp, and from there travel East toward the Xingu, and Z. I am getting used to travel, I think, as the insects are not bothering me so much, I am sleeping better, and feel stronger even than when we left the terrible hole of Cuiaba. This is in marked contrast to some of the crew, who get worse by the day. Saunders has festering wounds on his arms and legs, Merril's face is a shock to behold, and Cunningham is nearly delirious with fever. Smythe has made an incredible recovery, and is often leading the way with his machete. I envy his youth and strength and resilience. We two, with Dowling and Carruthers, have been sharing conversation over breakfast lately, as the rest of the camp has been sluggish to rouse, and Fawcett mostly keeps to himself. 9/10 Bakairi post is a miserable place, barely worthy of the appellation of town. There are twenty or so ramshackle huts, surrounded by barbed wire. They put us up in the schoolhouse, only a few years old, and already falling apart. They tell us it is where Fawcett's last expedition stayed. Valdemira, the only Brazilian in the midst of tribesman, takes care of us as he can, though he is somewhat reserved. There are wild Indians here, not Bakairi, who come here from the deeper jungle to trade. We have found a number of green stone artifacts similar to those recovered from the slain hostiles last week, and others, of a mottled, rosy stone, in a somewhat similar style. These are uniformly beaked, with jaguar features, and a covering which appears to be leafy. The Bakairi I ask tell me that they have been appearing more in the past couple of years, and seem to be related to two differing religions in the deeper jungle. It is difficult to tell, but they seem tense when talking about it, glancing occasionally to the East. Carruthers has bought several of the pink ones, for comparison, and given them to Smythe to hold with the rest, though I did see Smythe giving one or two of these trinkets to the ladies of the party. Rice, Biggs, and Dyott wanted souvenirs, apparently. I so dislike working with nonscientists. Rice got on the radio and we made a progress report. Saunders, Merril, and Cunningham are being left behind due to illness. The medical facilities here are poor, but better than on the trail, and there is some travel from here to civilisation. There is more hope for them here than with us. We are barely a month into the journey, and I fear that those sick enough to force return are the lucky ones. 9/20 Travel by river is not as swift as I would have thought, though it does allow us to rest somewhat, as all the gear is in canoes brought from Bakairi, but there are frequent rapids and waterfalls, which requires us to port the boats along with everything else. There are fewer of us, and those remaining are stronger, but there is an awful lot of equipment. Thank God for our native guides; they have taken much of the burden off the rest of us. There has been talk in the camp, whispered and private, but I feel that many of the group are having disturbing dreams. Mine are certainly vivid and unusual. I attribute it to the great stress of the surroundings. 9/22 Fawcett has convinced Cunningham that we should abandon the river and travel east, overland. Another radio announcement. Soon, we will need to call the plane for more provisions. 9/26 We have met a tribe who is, while not exactly friendly, not hostile. They call themselves Kosa, and are surprisingly pale for Indians. They have provided us with food, and a most effective salve for those of us who are suffering from the effects of insect and bat depredation. The village is surprisingly large, and everyone looks remarkably healthy. These are a far cry from the sickly natives of Bakairi post. We have been treated to some sort of a religious ritual, as well. Vinson, Dipple, and Agnew were made much of by the locals, and treated to a private audience of their leader who, uniquely, seems to be a woman. These Indians all have some of the pinkish artifacts we have been seeing, and there was a larger version which was brought out for the ritual. It seems to be a more complete version of the smaller one, a flat depiction of an entire fantastical creature. The whole is even more intensely disturbing than the part. They say it is a representation of their creation goddess. Carruthers wanted to make a rubbing, but the priests got very agitated, and refused. The Tucapi seem uncomfortable here. I imagine they are not used to the hospitality of strange tribes. They did offer each of us one of their small totems. Carruthers instructed everyone to take one, and collected most of them to put into Smythe's bundle with the rest. 9/30 Disaster has struck. Three of us are dead; Dipple, Crouch, and May. Many others are wounded, including myself. The attack happened during the night. The first we knew of any problem, Mary Dipple screamed from the jungle. It was an awful sound, terrified, and brief. She had apparently wandered away for some privacy. We found her later, with a dozen arrows piercing her small body. Most of us were just setting up in our tents for the evening. Crouch and May were the first to respond, and they paid for their readiness with their lives. Still, they likely saved the rest of us. Our natives made a decent showing, but they lost half their number as well. They swarmed into camp striking at whoever they could find with these wicked clubs. It was terrifying- the paint they wore to alter their features into masks of horror, and the strange clackering, skittering noises they made as they attacked. Smythe, of all people, seems to be the hero of the day. Everything was chaotic, and I was hit on the head as well, but I saw him gesture into the air, glowing with some strange light. There was a loud noise, a great flash, and the night fell silent. Apparently, he filled a sock with gunpowder, and set it off with a flare gun, like a grenade. Remarkably quick thinking lad, as it drove the enemy away. Those still able consolidated camp and tended the wounded. In the morning we found our dead, and theirs as well. Crouch and May were beaten to death, but they had shot several before they fell. The Tucapi brought some down, also, but at a heavy cost to their own. Each of these fallen had another of these strange green artifacts on them, and they all seemed odd formed. They had rough skin, long arms, wide mouths- clearly a tribe or race of man not yet catalogued by science. Carruthers had the artifacts recovered, but Smythe refused to take any more. I told Dowling to take charge of them, as they will likely have some archaeological significance. The symbols of some sort of warrior cult, it would seem. October 1927 10/1 The Tucapi have left during the night, taking some food, and little else. Progress will be much slower from now on, and we must abandon most of our supplies. It is a shame our animals died weeks ago, as we could have used the ready meat. Carruthers says that the next open river we come to, we will call the plane and resupply. We won't make much progress in the next weeks, as we recover from our wounds. Morale is low, and I fear our journey may be over before it has accomplished anything. 10/4 We have traveled perhaps five miles since our last entry, but we are by a small brook- small enough to be safe from piranha and pythons, but enough to give us water. Smythe has surprised us all by being a reasonably proficient hunter. He has brought back to camp a pair of small pigs and the largest rat I have ever seen. We are eating well, and by some miracle, the camp seems mostly immune to the incessant insects which have plagued us from the beginning. Dawling has been helping Dr. Dunn, and all the wounded are recovering remarkably. 10/7 We are traveling again, making decent speed, but I'm not the only one who has noticed the strange behaviour exhibited by much of the party, notably Smythe and Dawling. They both wake the camp with their thrashings at night, and have been very withdrawn. Most of the expedition have long fugues, walking as if asleep, muttering to themselves. We are far away from any hope of rescue, or the comforts of civilisation. It is frightening to see how thin the veneer of humanity is- how quickly we succumb to our baser natures. 10/10 Fawcett and Carruthers had an argument last night, about our route. I couldn't hear it very well, but it seemed to do with the Xingu river, and which of it we are. Fawcett was adamant about a pair of something, but I couldn't determine what. In any case, it seems we are to bear northeast for a time. I find my mind shutting down, and no longer care about the route. My existence has reduced to trudging forward, sweating, aching, occasionally eating, and the oblivion of sleep. 10/15 We see signs of human activity everywhere- tracks, arrowheads, carvings in bark, but nowhere to be found is an actual human. Everyone is deeply on edge. 10/23 Everyone feels watched. Biggs last week shot into the branches, screaming about the birds. For a few hours, I could have sworn an enormous spider was following us from tree to tree. November 1927 11/2 We have found a large river, with clear banks. We cannot cross it, but it is sizable enough to allow landing by the seaplane we have in Corumba. In the morning, when it is light, we will call on the radio, and get resupplied. I am dying for a cigarette, and perhaps a bit of whiskey. 11/3 This is even worse, I think, than the previous attacks. A storm came in the night, strong and swift, flooding the river. Most of our supplies are gone, including the radio. To have lugged those heavy parts all this way, sacrificing food, for this one chance at safety, and for it all to have been in vain. I have never known despair until this moment. Dr. Rice is livid, but few of us can be bothered to care. We have little food, little medicine, no contact with the world, limited mosquito netting, we lost half our tents, and all but three of the guns. We don't even have our surveying equipment. It will be difficult to tell where we are. Even if they start an aerial survey, we are so far off course, the chances of rescue are slim. Still, both Carruthers and Fawcett are adamant that we continue. Smythe and Dowling are also eager, while no one else seems to care anymore.I suppose the going will be lighter from now on, but we must find a way around this river. 11/10 Maude Agnew came to me with a disturbing tale of Dowling attacking her during a break. She claims he followed her when she went to relieve herself, and said some quite inappropriate things. It quickly turned violent, but she broke away and made it to camp, where he was once again nonchalant. This is nothing like the student I knew, but the jungle seems to have a way of changing us all. We can't afford the divisiveness of a trial, but I have warned Maude and Julia to stay together at all times, and to be near those they can trust. 11/13 Both Smythe and Dowling are conspicuously absent most days. They both say they are scouting, and hunting, but have a strange look about the eyes. They do each bring us back food regularly, so I suppose I shouldn't complain, but I am still suspicious. 11/19 People are getting ill again. Sores from insect bites, fever, pustulating blisters- it is like our first days on the expedition, except that we are all haggard and emaciated. Jennings and Williams are worst off, and Dr. Dunn is doing poorly, but Vinson and Agnew are glassy eyed as well. Over a third of us are doing poorly. I constantly wonder if this trip is worth it. How many have to die in the name of discovery? Fawcett himself warned that no one should follow, and I become more convinced that even that great explored was finally broken by this remorseless green hell. 11/25 Someone came through the camp last night. There are tracks, and everything is disturbed, but nothing appears to be missing. Carruthers made quite a row about it, but I cannot be bothered to care. Whoever it was could have killed us, and chose not to. I don't even know if I am disappointed. December 1927 12/8 Dowling's nightly rants have been getting worse of late. Last night, the entire camp was awoken to these most horrific screams. I shuddered, remembering that poor Dipple girl. But these screams didn't end, as much as trail into higher and higher registers before tapering off. Dowling's sleep sack was thrashing on the edge of camp, and we all suspected a jaguar, or some such, but I was helpless to do anything. Eventually, it stilled, and Carruthers told Biggs to approach. He drew his rifle and slowly walked toward Dowling. None of us could see what happened, but there was an enormous ripping noise, a clattering hiss, and gunshots. In the intermittent flashes, I saw someone running into the trees, but nothing clearly. Biggs said there was something else there- a jaguarundi he reckons, and Dowling fled after being attacked. But there was no blood, and his sack looked like it was torn out of, rather than into. Biggs is even edgier now than he was before, jumping at every noise, and always staring intently into the undergrowth. 12/12 Jennings, Vincent, Dunn, Agnew, and Williams are all doing poorly, in one way or another. We have decided to create a base camp for them to recover, with Smythe taking tutelage under Dr. Dunn. With luck, they will recover with a few days of rest. Smythe has been quite successful hunting lately, so I have no fear of their material needs. As long as he can keep Dunn conscious and dispensing medical aid, they should be alright. The rest of us, Carruthers, Rice, Dyott, Fawcett, Biggs, and I will investigate the plateau we now find to our East. Fawcett swears it is just like those referred in the Colonel's notes from the conquistador's report. We have given them tents, rations, weapons, flares, anything we can think of to help them survive which are not absolutely required for our trek. On so we go. 12/18 We have reached the summit of the plateau, to many strange discoveries. There is definitely evidence of a city here, in a valley beyond the plateau. Traveling towards it, we found three arches, the center one much larger than the ones outside. There seem to be carvings on them, perhaps of a language, but not one I've ever encountered before. I've included samples of what I can discern in the back of this diary. It being late, Carruthers had decided that we should camp, and explore this most wondrous find in the morning. There is a strange light in the sky, which Carruthers assures me is a comet, but I have never heard of one so bright as to be seen during the day. I have no idea how long it as hung in the sky, as everything has been obscured by trees for months. Despite the wondrous discovery we have made today, it oppresses my mood. 12/19 There is a wide, paved road from the arches, into a city. There are many low square stone buildings in remarkable condition, but no sigh of human habitation. Some buildings are long, with many smaller rooms, perhaps for habitation, but some buildings are smaller, as for a single abode or shop. There is no sign of furniture, or personal goods or cloth, or any indication as to the use of any particular building. There is a square, or plaza, in the center of which is a large column of black stone, with a statue on its summit. The statue is of a man, though too high and to get a good look at his appearance. Each corner of this plaza contains a black obelisk, all but one of which are broken to greater or lesser extent. There are carvings, which may be letters, in the base of these obelisks, and the statue, included at the end of this diary. On one side of this plaza is a great construction, like a stone mansion. Exploring this disturbed some huge number of bats, which drove us out with their initial assault. There are many buildings, and constructions which seem to let into the ground, if we can only open them. Not too distant from this square, is a canal, deep and fast-flowing, across from which appears to be verdant fields and forest. There are also small lakes, which appear to be inhabited by some sort of native duck. Truly this is the paradise that Colonel Fawcett sought, the City of Z which so inflamed his imagination. Carruthers has declared that we must return to the temporary base camp, to gather our sick and wounded and bring them here. We can house them inside the abandoned buildings, find food beyond the canal, stay here indefinitely, away from the constant danger of the oppressive jungle. We head out again tomorrow. 12/20 Last night, no one slept easily. The comet flared in the night sky, obliterating all but a few stars from view. The city is eerily quiet, after the relentless tumult of the jungle, which is now heard only as a distant hum. I miss the peace and safety of this ancient city already, and can only wonder at what would leave it so abandoned, and so well preserved. I'm sure the others will be relieved at the chance to recuperate without the constant pressure of the jungle dangers. 12/21 I can barely describe the horror and sense of loss I now have. We have encountered disease, injury, attacks by men and beast, but returning to our base camp... I must start from the beginning, be as clinical as I can, lest I go mad. When we got back to the camp, we could all smell smoke, overwhelming the humid green stench of the Amazon. We hurried forward, but none of us was prepared for what we found. All the undergrowth surrounding the tents was charred, even the massive tree trunks were burned through the bark. There were bodies, whole and in part, twisted beyond recognition, melted, no longer human looking. The tents were all crushed, trampled, packs and supplies scattered. There was a high moaning sound. Biggs cocked his gun, and went into camp. He is a strong man, a brave man, and even he blanched, dropping his gun, when he found what was on the other side of the main camp tree. Smythe was sitting against the base of the tree, yard long arrows piercing him, pinning him to the trunk. His arms were outstretched, likewise pinned, his shoulders pulled nearly from their sockets. He was the source of the moaning. Few of us weren't ill with the sight and thought of his suffering. He was barely coherent, which was not surprising, but he was able make it clear that they were attacked three nights ago, the night of the comet. He kept repeating that he couldn't save them, that the fire wasn't enough. I can't imagine how he was still alive, much less conscious, after three days bleeding against a tree. He pointed us to the north, where the invaders came from, and finally, blessedly, died. We all agreed to start following the trail immediately. 12/22 The trail seems remarkably easy to follow. Biggs says there are many natives in the group. At least a dozen, including our captives. We have no idea how close we are, or how far they are going. We can only hope that the prisoners will slow them down enough for us to catch up. 12/23 There is another plateau, directly in the path of our attackers. If that is their destination, hopefully we can find them tomorrow. Our urgency has redoubled, after what we found at their campsite today. It was a simple affair, no evidence of tents or bedding, but there had been a fire, and the remains of a cooked meal. I can recognise human remains when I find it. There was also a watch, on a broken strap, at the edge of camp. I recognised it as Dowling's. He'd gotten it as Christmas gift from his fiancee. He couldn't stop talking about it all last semester. What are we dealing with? 12/24 We are weakened through malnutrition and constant effort, but we rest tonight at the base of what appears to be a path to the summit of the plateau. It is carved with worn steps, periodically, and there is some sort of crystal scattered along the path that catched the light of the setting sun most strongly. Tomorrow we will surely find our fellows. Or whom of them remains. January 1928 1/1 The last week is hazy. None of us has eaten properly, Biggs is feverish, Vinson is barely intelligible. Dyott died saving her from those... I can't even describe. Now that we are back in the semblance of civilization that is Santa Maria, with food and shelter and water, everything I've experienced seems so unreal- even dreamlike. We summitted the plateau shortly after midday, to a similarly designed stone city, except this one was occupied by chanting savages. There were hundreds of them, all wearing strange, macabre dress- masks, paint, gloves and body coverings making them appear strange and monstrous. Three of our compatriots were being held in the plaza. We couldn't see much of the goings on, lest we be seen ourselves, and share their terrible fate. Dyott, Biggs, even Rice and, surprisingly, Fawcett, wanted to risk exploration, to discover more about this strange tribe and their practices, perhaps effect a rescue, which I knew would be hopeless. What I saw from my vantage point was terrible enough. These wretched creatures were chanting, almost singing, but standing in place in the plaza, rather than dancing as in most primitive rituals I have encountered. Their intensity increased as I noticed darkness falling. An eclipse had begun. Oddly, as the sun grew ever more hidden, the darkness was held at bay. The comet returned, shining with the sun's rays removed, and there was a strange white light coming from the edge of the plaza hidden from my sight by low buildings. The eerie chanting reached a deafening crescendo and stopped suddenly, leaving echoes bouncing off the city stone. Then there was one loud voice, carrying throughout the streets, shouting, clearly heard- "The time is here. Make them eminent!" At this, Williams, Jennings, and Dunn were dragged through the plaza, oddly unresistant, and each taken into a low building by two natives. Then, everything seemed to happen at once. There was gunfire, screaming, bodies running everywhere, and a fierce roaring noise coming from the plaza, a rough, terrifying sound of anger from many throats. Dyott came running at us, dragging a bedraggled and wretched looking Dr. Vinson in tow. He was wild eyed and bleeding, and urged us to run. Biggs, and Rice quickly joined our flight, firing backwards at our pursuers. I fail to understand how we could have escaped from so many, and yet we did. I'm not sure at what point Fawcett returned, emptying his pistol into our implacable foes, or when Dyott fell, but both surely happened, for when we reached the river outside the city, there were but the six of us remaining. I finally got a glimpse of these fearsome tribesmen as they ran toward us at the river, and they were all moving strangely, unevenly, almost. Fawcett threw Carruthers bodily into the river, and then Rice, shouting that we had to swim, it was our only chance. Biggs grabbed Vinson and dove in, while I waited dumbly to suffer my fate, until I, too, was thrown into the water. It is a miracle we lived, and remained together. There were waterfalls, and days of drifting on the river with only makeshift logs for a raft. I am thankful I remember little of it. Biggs talks of a white robed man in a golden mask back at the city, how he's sure he couldn't have missed. Rice mentioned the filthy cage where Dr. Vinson was found, ragged and dirty, and the two smaller guards he and Dyott killed to free her. Vinson's mind is gone, I fear. She starts at every sound, fumbling at that damned artifact all the time, muttering below her breath. She screams in her sleep, about teeth, and flesh. From what I can surmise, poor Miss Agnew was butchered and eaten before her, and she was supposed to be next. There is nothing here in the jungle but suffering, madness, and the final relief of death. I have given the artifacts and tokens that I have so far collected to Carruthers, and never will I return to so forsaken a place. Now, I rest in Santa Maria, soon to go on to Para, and thence my beloved Miskatonic, never again to leave. Samples Arches Found on 12/18/1927. Obelisks Found on 12/19/1927. Statue Found on 12/19/1927. Category:In-Game Stuff Category:Migrated